Page 8 of Freeing Hook

“If he wanted her deadyet,” I correct.

Peter sighs, then pats me on the shoulder before finally removing his hand and giving me space to breathe.

“Just let me know what I can do to help,” I say.

Peter nods, as if he’ll let me anywhere near any evidence of what might have happened to Wendy. I don’t buy for a secondthat he’s telling me the entire truth, but it’s not as if I’m going to be able to pry it out of him.

Before Peter leaves, he makes his rounds about the table, patting the Lost Boys on the shoulders. I hear their whispers, though just fragments. Mostly I hear words like Winds and safe and okay.

The Lost Boys might be blind to Peter’s manipulations, but at least they care for my sister.

Michael wriggles out of my grip and dashes to Peter, who rustles his hair and offers him a smile that my brother returns with a whistle. My gut writhes, and I can’t tell if it’s from hatred for the fae who ruined our lives and is now hiding the reason behind Wendy’s disappearance, or if I’m simply being petulant about Michael favoring him.

The only person Peter doesn’t clap on the back is Simon. The Lost Boy who supposedly saved my life from Nettle and typically worships Peter stares at his barely touched meal. Victor must notice, because he glances at me and cocks a brow.

When Peter leaves, Simon slides his onions onto Smalls’s plate.

Later,someone grabs at me as I’m leaving the Den, the reaping tree having just deposited Michael and me outside. I flinch at the touch, but the grip remains firm. When I turn, I’m met with shaggy black hair and empty eyes framed by dark bruises.

“Walk with me,” says Victor, sliding his hand off my shoulder and gesturing for me to follow him.

Michael hums to himself as we accompany Victor into the woods. If he’d asked me to follow him down a dark path alone only a few days ago, I would have found an excuse not to. Or outright refused. But now that we know that Nettle was the killer, I’m less inclined to mistrust Victor.

That’s not accurate. I still have a blade inside my belt—I found it in Thomas’s old rooms when I was digging around there for information on his disappearance—but I don’t anticipate having to use it. Besides, I’m fairly sure I already know what this is about.

“You don’t think Peter’s telling us the truth about what happened to Wendy,” I say as soon as we reach a clearing.

Victor cocks a bushy black brow at me. “How’d you know?”

Seems obvious enough, but I don’t mind explaining. “Peter deflected attention away from your brother’s murder. Made the Lost Boys feel as if it wasn’t actually a murder, even though all logic pointed otherwise. If he wasn’t forthright about Thomas’s death, why would you believe what he claims about Wendy’s disappearance?”

Victor harrumphs and plucks a twig off a nearby tree, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. “You’re a know-it-all. You know that, right?”

“I suppose if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be a know-it-all, would I?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Victor hardly pays me attention. He just scans the area.

“You think Peter’s listening?” I ask.

Victor shakes his head. “Not Peter. Something else, though. I get the feeling this island’s always listening.”

I frown, and Michael says, “It’s time to use our listening ears.”

“I guess you’re always listening too, aren’t you, buddy?” Victor asks Michael. He goes to rub the top of my brother’s head, then must think better of it because he retracts his hands to his sides. Strange. It’s the first glimpse of tenderness I’ve ever witnessed in the guy.

“Always,” I say, offering a faint smile down at my brother. Michael squeezes my hand. It’s about the only comfort I have at the moment, so I cling to it.

“So what do you think happened to Wendy?” I ask. Hopefully, Victor will recount the events that occurred while I was drugged. He’s already told me some down in the Den, but now that we’re away from prying ears, I’m hoping there’s more to the story.

Victor paces, thinking. “She was snooping around, your sister.”

Wendy wasn’t the only one, but I don’t mention as much.

“She had a sketch of Thomas in her pocket the day we all wrestled,” Victor says. “She had to have been looking into what happened to him.”

“And Wendy figured it out,” I say, thinking. “You said Nettle was the one going around killing people. Wendy confirmed as much before she went missing, didn’t she?”

Victor works the corner of his lip. “Yeah, she, Peter, and Simon came back and told all of us what happened. That Nettle had gone mad, thinking you were the killer. And that Simon killed him to defend you.”

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